


Bargain

by esama



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Doctor Who
Genre: Do not repost, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 16:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17287304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: In a cave, locked in a prison hundred thousand years old, there's a Weeping Angel.





	Bargain

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Bargain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19432888) by [Borsari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Borsari/pseuds/Borsari)



In a cavern deep underground, a dimly lit chamber sealed eons ago is breached by light. A seam splits open a previously impenetrable wall, and from that seam circuits activate, lighting up over the door and then across the walls, shedding light into an ancient prison, build almost hundred millennia ago. Within it, the prison holds only one thing, standing still in its centre, surrounded by now glowing symbols and glyphs, surrounded at all sides… by mirrors.

They all reflect the vision of the prisoner onto itself – no matter where the prisoner might look, how it might turn, it is always watching itself. It cannot by any conceivable way look away from itself.

A step echoes into the prison chamber, bouncing off the hexagonal walls, off the ancient mirrors. A figure steps through the still parting doors, his face shadowed by the hood he wears. In his hand, he has a torch and nothing more. Though he knows what he's approaching, he shows neither fear no hesitation.

He stops beside the floating mirrors, looking past their gaps at the prisoner. The mirrors are motionless, as is the prisoner, nailed into air as if they, like it, were only statues, frozen in time. Neither is true, though – if the prisoner moves, so would the mirrors. And because of that, the prisoner cannot move.

The hooded man lifts the torch slightly, waving it and watching the shadows move on the prisoner's face. It has a human face, caught in expression of a ferocious snarl. Twisted and fanged, it looks not unlike a demon… despite the wings. An angel, with a face straight from hell.

"I don't know what kind of timekeeping you… people use," the hooded man says to the prisoner. "If any. But I know you know about futures. You feed off potential energy – the future a person might have. You remove people – or things – off their intended timelines and feed of the latent possibilities they might've had. Right?"

There is no answer. The statue of the snarling angel surrounded by the mirrors doesn't react in any way, snarling at its own reflection silent and still. The hooded man hums, and turns his head slightly, to look at the angel's face from another angle.

"Didn't think the quantum lock thing was real, but… here you are," he murmurs. "Hell of a thing."

He hesitates now, looking away and at the walls. The glowing circuits are fading now, but there's still light in the room. It's faint, but it's there – ceaseless source of ambient light, shining from above. Though very dim, it's easily strong enough to see in. Strong enough for the angel to see itself, with the chamber sealed

"The Lonely Assassin, quantum locked so that you can never interact with… anything, but the thing whose potential you kill," the hooded man says and slowly bends down to set his torch down. "Trapped in place by your own mirror reflection. Now that is fucking poetic."

He puts the torch away and runs a hand over his arms, checking his bracers and then looking up at the angel. "I have a… bargain for you, and I know you're going to take it, because you already did," he says. "I'm going to get you out of here, let you loose – and in return, you're going to find me in…" he pauses and then takes something from a pouch attached to his wide belt, a piece of paper, where he checks the writing on it. "In four hundred ninety six years, seven months and twenty days. Or in hundred and eighty one thousand, three hundred and fifty eight days. And you're going to send me back."

He eyes the writing on the paper, considering the numbers. "Hope that means something to you," he says and then reaches to put the piece of paper into the angel's curled stone hand, tucking it under the clawed fingers. "I've been told I had one _hell_ of a potential future, so… should be pretty juicy for you."

No answer from the snarling angel. The hooded man smiles faintly and then takes out a piece of cloth. "Man, I'd love to know your story," he says. "What you did to piss the Isu off enough that they figured out a way to actually trap you. That'd be pretty wild story, I think. I guess you can't really tell me though, can you?"

He waits and there's no reaction from the stone statue. It only keeps blindly staring at its own reflection on the stone mirror. The hooded man draws a slow breath and then releases it in a quick sigh. "Okay," he says and walks around the snarling statue, lifting the dark cloth in both hands, folding it into a band. "I'm gonna… yeah."

Quietly he ties the blindfold around the angel's head, gently making sure it cover's statue's stone eyes completely. After making sure the not would hold, he steps back.

"Please don't make me regret this," the man murmurs, and then closes his eyes. For a moment, nothing changes, the silence ringing in his ears, oppressive. Then he feels something like a breeze – a sound of stone, sighing.

When he opens his eyes, the statue is gone – and he is still there.

Desmond swallows and nods at the angel who isn't there anymore. "Happy hunting," he murmurs, and goes to pick up his torch again.


End file.
